


Seasons

by kiyala



Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Youkai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: Of two komainu, and the seasons.





	Seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Puimoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puimoo/gifts).



**autumn.**

i.

He hears their voices before he sees them, as always, their steady bickering as customary as the sun in the sky. The turn of the season announces itself in the morning air before all else, then in the leaves. There's a layer of them, orange and red and brown, covering the paved stone of the shrine like a carpet. Sweeping the leaves up, the same two priests who are there every morning and every evening. It feels as if they are part of the shrine itself, for every single autumn day that comes and goes with them standing together under the shade of the large tree that steadily sheds its leaves onto them, brooms in hand, an age old argument that flows between them as naturally as water in a river.

The old man on his morning walk does not think twice of it. They've been here for as long as he can remember, and beyond that too. He doesn't take much notice of them any more than he takes notice of the pond to the side of the shrine, or the two weathered komainu statues that stand guard. It's easier that way, for the people of this quiet residential street hidden away in the heart of a bustling city. The old man has no need to cast his memory back, to remember that the two priests have been there, ever unchanging, since he was a boy, just as they will still be even when he is nothing but dust. Nobody stops to think of how the two of them have never once left the grounds of the shrine, and nobody ever will. 

It doesn't matter to anyone else, and the two of them don't mind that. For better or worse, they have each other and that is all they need.

ii.

The colours of autumn suit Ooshiba.

Kimishita will never admit to having such favourable thoughts, not even on pain of death, but that doesn't stop it from being true. The leaves falling around them match his hair, the sunlight is golden on his skin, and there's nothing more interesting to look at anyway. He could considering himself lucky, that Ooshiba is still interesting at all, after all these centuries together. Kimishita knows that they haven't made it this long because of Ooshiba's stellar ability to hold conversations.

With a deep sigh, he rubs his hand over his face as he drowns out Ooshiba's voice. Hundreds of years, and Ooshiba still hasn't learned to let Kimishita greet a morning in peace and quiet, the way he would like. Instead, Ooshiba talks and talks, his words flowing as easy and sure as the water from the stream that cuts through the woods, just behind their shrine. It's as comforting as it is annoying, but Kimishita has come to realise that this is a running theme, for the shrine that he calls his home. The local deity they serve isn't much different, impressive enough to be considered a god and frightening enough to be mistaken for a monster, but Kimishita seems to be the only person who realises that he's too much of an airhead to be taken seriously. 

Kimishita would still follow Mizuki to the ends of the earth. That's why he's here, he supposes, even though he can't tell why Ooshiba is. The concept of Ooshiba serving anyone is such an alien concept, despite all the time they've spent side by side doing just that. He thinks far too highly of himself, but his respect for Mizuki is clear all the same, and Kimishita supposes that it's all that matters. 

"Hey," Ooshiba's voice calls, cutting through his thoughts. "I said _hey_. You're spacing out." 

Kimishita blinks, realising that Ooshiba is standing far too close for comfort and is reaching for his hair. With a growl, he knocks Ooshiba's hand aside with the handle of his broom.

"You're getting too close."

"You have a leaf stuck in your hair," Ooshiba replies, shaking his hand and using his other to snatch it out of Kimishita's hair, holding it up. "You're such a jerk."

"Don't just reach for it next time," Kimishita retorts, tightening his grip on his broom handle, just as likely to throw it at Ooshiba as he is to start sweeping again. "Focus."

" _You_ focus," Ooshiba mutters under his breath, and Kimishita turns his back on his companion, to hide the roll of his eyes just as much as to hide the way the corners of his lips curve upward into a smile.

**winter.**

i.

As the temperature drops and the snow starts to fall, the cold weather drives everyone indoors. There are few people on the streets and fewer who walk past the shrine at this time of the year, nestled as it is between quiet streets. This morning, there's only one person walking along the path that leads past the shrine, her boots a stark black against the undisturbed white blanket of snow.

The shrine, she notices, is meticulously maintained despite the snow. The path has been kept clear, and there's not even a single trace of the light snowfall from earlier that morning. It's a commonly known fact in this neighbourhood that the priests of this shrine take good care of it, and she thinks that she glimpses them towards the back of the shrine, side by side just like the komainu statues in front of her, covered in snow despite the fact that everything else is so neat. She brushes her gloved hand over the one closest to her, its mouth open in an _A_ , and the taller of the priests turns his head in her direction. It makes her snatch her hand away, like she's been caught doing something that she shouldn't, and she turns away, continuing her walk to the station nearby.

ii.

Everything feels a little muted in winter, and the same can be said of the way that they argue. It feels softer, even to Kimishita's own ears, like footsteps muffled by the snow. It's not as though they ever stop, when they're too set in their habits for that. Instead, it's quieter, Kimishita tapping the back of Ooshiba's hand instead of slapping it away when he's getting too close without warning.

"It's cold," Ooshiba complains, and while body warmth is tempting to lean back into, Kimishita resists the urge. "Are you just going to let me freeze to death while you clear away all that snow?" 

"You're not going to die," Kimishita mutters, not even glancing in Ooshiba's direction. "You can't. I need to make sure the shrine is tidy." 

"No one's going to come on a day like this," Ooshiba replies, even though he helps Kimishita push the snow away. "Mizuki would probably just sleep through a day like this. It's too cold to do anything but huddle for warmth."

Ignoring the obvious invitation, Kimishita continues what he's doing until there's no more snow left to clear, no more excuses left to keep his distance. He knows that Ooshiba is waiting for it, from the way he starts stepping closer, like he's testing whether he'll be told off. When Kimishita allows it, he moves even closer, until they're standing with Ooshiba's chest to Kimishita's back.

"I don't like the cold," Ooshiba complains, resting his chin on top of Kimishita's head.

"Deal with it," Kimishita replies, subly leaning back into Ooshiba and enjoying the warmth that radiates from him. "And stop complaining. I can't do anything about it, can I?"

"I still don't like it," Ooshiba mutters, his voice muffled into Kimishita's hair. 

"I'm going to hit you," Kimishita threatens, but Ooshiba knows him too well to believe it, and just holds on tighter.

**spring**

i.

The air smells sweeter as the seasons turn once more, the flowers blooming once the snow has all melted. There's something about early spring that feels like a new beginning, like the world is only just reawakening to itself. It's a good time for quiet walks, like the young mother out with her baby strapped to her back. There's a large tree just by the local shrine, its branches beginning to bloom with cherry blossoms and the sight and smell of it brings her to a stop so she can admire it.

She knows this shrine well, and it's always been here as a comforting constant in her life, complete with the two priests who never seem to age or change, no matter how many years have passed. They're standing together today too, their backs turned to her, their voices too low for her to catch what they're saying. She smiles, wondering if they're bickering the way they so often seem to be, but this moment feels a little too gentle for that, like the gradual thaw of the cold. They're standing close enough to each other that their shoulders are brushing against each other, and the more she listens, the more she can hear the undercurrent of fondness to their words, subtle but still present all the same. 

It makes her feel like she's glimpsing something private, not intended for anyone else to see, and she turns away, walking past the two komainu statues by the front of the shrine and placing a stray petal on each head before she goes back to her walk.

ii.

It's easier to love Ooshiba in the spring. Kimishita blames it on the winter that has just passed, as he has for every year before. It's a result of having spent the past three months in easy reach of each other in an attempt to drive off the cold. Ooshiba is less inclined to complain and even when he does, all that Kimishita needs to do to shut him up is to kiss him. It feels easy now, when they've passed an entire season in each other's arms, having worn down Kimishita's reflex to resist any gestures of affection.

Not that it stops Ooshiba from being annoying all the same. His touches linger, and he steals kisses like he's starved for them, daring Kimishita to protest while knowing that he won't. It's there in the curve of his smile, smug but tempered with fondness that he doesn't usually show either. 

"Winter's turned us soft," Kimishita huffs, half-heartedly pushing Ooshiba away so he can tend to the plants that he's trying to coax back to health at the edge of the shrine. 

Ooshiba doesn't go to far. He never does, not when they're bound to the shrine as they are, but Kimishita feels it even more so now, his body accustomed to seeking the warmth of Ooshiba's solid frame when all it takes is a soft breath and a slight lean backwards before they're touching again. 

"Winter made you realise how great I am," Ooshiba replies, and his lips brush against the nape of Kimishita's neck, leaving residual warmth in their wake and a matching warmth blooming through Kimishita's chest. 

"I wouldn't go that far," Kimishita grumbles. When he turns to Ooshiba again, he finds himself looking up into the most smug expression he's had the displeasure of seeing this year. 

Then Ooshiba grins, like he understands exactly what Kimishita's feeling, like he can see right through to the heart of it. 

"I'm gonna punch you, Kiichi," Kimishita mutters, and he means it with his entire being.

When Ooshiba kisses him, he kisses right back and means that even more.

**summer**

i.

The heat makes people more irritable. Everyone feels it, from the teenagers playing in the streets to the old married couple who have known each other for decades. The two priests at the shrine, already known for their bickering, get louder as the days go by and as the temperature rises. They brandish their brooms at each other like they're weapons, ready to throw down at a moment's notice. They're polite when there are others at the shrine, but their shaky relationship is the worst kept secret in the entire neighbourhood and there's little point in pretending otherwise when their shouts carry all the way down the street.

There's a young girl who visits the shrine every Friday with her grandparents, who has never seen the priests argue but has heard about them. Even when they're not argue, she sees them circling each other, gazes fixed on each other like dogs ready to leap into another fight. She likes them, though, because they're always kind to her when she comes by. She copies her grandparents as they pray, peeking with one eye to see the way the priests look at each other, the fight gone for an instant and replaced by something that reminds her of the way her grandparents reach for each other on balmy nights, folding their hands with all their wrinkles and all their years like they're silently saying, _I know you, just as you know me_. 

She pats the komainu statues on her way out, three pats for each head, and when her grandparents take her hands between them both, leading the way back home, she glances over her shoulder and catches the priests seeing her out with matching smiles.

ii.

Ooshiba is unbearable.

Kimishita is short on patience and he doesn't have any of it to spare on someone like Ooshiba, who is irritating and a comforting presence in equal measures, who Kimishita can want to hit and kiss in the space of one breath. It's been enough centuries now that Kimishita knows that arguments are the easiest form of communication for them both, snippets of truth spoken between the louder exchange of insults, but if their disagreements are bonfires, it's still nothing compares to the heated looks they will sometimes exchange, hotter than the burning midday sun. 

"I hate you," Kimishita mutters, pretending that his words are even halfway convincing. They both know better, but there's no fun in that when they can play along with this instead, an old script that they've rehearsed so many times that it comes without thought these days.

"I hate you more," Ooshba replies, because there's no point in anything if it isn't a competition for them. His hand is gentle as it rests on Kimishita's hip, proprietary and suggestive, before giving Kimishita a light push that sends him stumbling back before he rights himself.

"I _hate you_ ," Kimishita repeats, with more venom this time, even as he wraps his arms around Ooshiba's shoulders and says the words against his mouth. 

"Yeah, yeah," Ooshiba mutters, but when he kisses Kimishita, his lips are curved into a smile.


End file.
